Primitive Travelling

It was on Friday last week when I thought of how I really needed the #OccupyParliamentKE thing to work, all courtesy of Twitter. I thought it should work for better because I just can't stand some things. I betcha, I can’t stand our MPs riding on our backs... but because I ain’t political, I won’t talk politics here.

Last week also, there was the Air Korea thing. Air travels and primitivism. I couldn’t get the linkage actually. But as multi-impressive as they are, dudes and dudettes on Twitter showed those guys just why we are called Kenyans and for good reasons why we make trends from clumsy issues around us:– First, that we own our land and nobody ain’t gonna take us for granted; second, we own our minds – assertive enough to speak out too much; third, we own our social media – it is our daily game anyway; then fourth, we own our words.

It was tastily bad, I may say... and couldn't stand the Koreans calling us primitive. Pardon. Let the Lord forgive me. But primitive is a strong word. Just imagine. Koreans, those guys over there, were saying that we Kenyans, with all our swag and intelligence, with all our love for God and political madness, are PRIMITIVE. Ouch! That was ridiculously out of range I guess...

So on that Friday, while filled with so much to think about both regionally and nationally, I took a matatu and was travelling to (please don't ask me where) some remote place on this side of the world. Picturesquely, an a-may-zin change of lifestyle, but realistically, a bad experience. You know how town life can choke you of the good pleasures of nature, huh? I was trying to definitely define change of environment, lest I grew fat and intoxicated... hehe.

City (or town) life can be suffocating with its series after series of routine life: home, work, home; home, work, church; bread, rice, chapoz, yoghurt, tea; life somehow becomes very very dumb as it goes round and predictably comes round. Reaaally. Somebody told me that a town-dweller is like a house without a chimney – always burning and producing heat, but never cooling off. That he/she is a catastrophe in the hiding – chaos can strike them into imbalance or they can strike chaos into shambles. With that in mind, I just needed some bit of cooling off. Yeah, just for some hours... Just a lil’ bit. But again you see, Kenyans are ridiculous if you have to share a matatu with them even if you are seeking for a time off out there...

While in that matatu I realized I just can't stand (OK, I try to) the weirdness of some clusters of people in a public vehicle. Here are some people I met and they made my travelling really primitive:

Passenger No. 1 - A mama next to me (on my left hand side to be precise) who was perennially shifting, restlessly kicking elbows into my tiny ribs and my almost empty stomach all the time. Thank you Lord for giving me the guts to tolerate her. She was anyway, between the age of my mom and my granny at home and deserved some home-bound respect. She was calling out for matchboxes via the window on my right, then pens, then she gave out this 100 shilling note wrapped in a handkerchief... and there was no change, and the vehicle was already taking off. So she screamed for her change. Right into my ears. Dude! I thought I was taking some rest from all the noise I’m used to? Gheee! OK she got it. But more weird was the way she kept looking through her bag. I never perceived nini alikuwa anatafuta yenye haipatikani haraka hivyo! Women na bags!!!

Passenger No. 2 - A lady on my right with two kids who were behaving like small buffaloes on edge. They wanted to see everything and do everything. They were jumping all over, yelling, smiling, sitting standing... I don’t know if it was the excitement ya kuenda ushaago or a reaction ya kukataa kwenda ushaago...?!!

Passenger No. 3 – Some lady (or was it a girl?) behind me singing choir-ish songs. Why on earth would you want to form an orchestra in a public vehicle without others’ permission? OMG! I ignored her somehow. I never looked back there to scan who she really was... Dude! This was getting a bit tougher than I expected!

The Conductor – The dude di'e'nt want to give us our change. He kept postponing saying “Nitakupatia!” He thought I’d forget my money. Know I don’t. I am Kenyan and I. DON'T. FORGET. ABOUT. MONEY. Period.

After the noisy and crazy ride I was onto a motorbike. The crazy Kenyan opportunist looked at me as if I'm from facilitating the London Olympics and charged me my head and my toes plus my empty stomach. I felt bad. OMG! O Grace, what would I do without Grace? These guys were treating me this badly, yet Koreans are busy calling me primitive. Eiiiiiiiiish! Oh Grace...

Return journey:

At least I had a full stomach. But there was a kid called Ocampo who terrorised me all the way. I fear the kids or children of today/of nowadays (a direct translation of 'naogopa watoto wa siku hizi) - they are damn wise and really freaky. I was not allowed the intellectual privileges they are endowed with today... You can only imagine what this chatterbox called Ocampo was doing to my ears. Oscillations and bandwidths. The kid was more noisy than two of me joined together...

Then there was a ride in another cab with 50% of the religious women there are discussing relationships. They were complaining that men instead of calling them their wives, are calling them 'housekeepers!' Ati ni kuwakosea heshima kusema, “Huyu ndiye ninayeishi na yeye.”  I told you women have got beef. Moreso, elderly women. *Giggling* Except my mom... hehe. They were saying that they needed to teach us young fellas on manners, etiquette and public address of spouses or significant others... you know where that one ended...

Did I really get what I needed? Yeah, somehow. But who cares, huh?

End of journey. Back to busy-ness and stuff...

Morris.